


An Acquired Taste

by Huggle



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Community: comment_fic, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-17 23:14:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4684877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huggle/pseuds/Huggle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>d'Artagnan has never actually eaten anything Constance has cooked before. Athos has, but d'Artagnan refuses to listen to the voice of experience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Acquired Taste

Athos lay quietly for a few moments, still labouring under the fever and how distant it made everything around him. Unfortunately, it didn’t make the pain distant with everything else, but he was used to discomfort. Used to bearing it.

He looked up when Constance came to stand next to the bed. “If you feel able, will you join us for some breakfast? Or I can bring you a tray?”

“No, thank you.” He wasn’t hungry, needed sleep more than food, or just to be on his own until he started to feel better. He didn’t need Madam Bonacieux nursing him. 

But Constance seemed to disagree. She folded her arms, and glared down at him. “You know, they were very worried when they brought you here last night. They didn’t think you would make it as far as the garrison, or your own rooms.”

“I do recall,” Athos said. “I was there.”

“Mmph,” Constance retorted. She sat down on the bed. “Then you’ll remember I promised Aramis I would make sure you rested, which you have, and make sure you ate, which you have not. Do not make a liar of me, Monsieur.”

Some minutes later, Athos seated himself at the table, nodded a greeting to d’Artagnan, and poured himself a glass of water. His throat still felt rough, his head ached, and while he understood his friends’ reasoning in bringing him here, he would have preferred to have been taken to his rooms and left there until he felt better.

He did not do well ill or hurt around others, even his brothers.

When Constance set the bowl in front of him, and a spoon, Athos gave a sigh. He covered it with a cough as she turned back, and he could feel the questioning gaze fall upon him.

A moment later, she put another bowl down before d’Artagnan. 

“Eat,” she told them. She patted d’Artagnan on the shoulder. “You have duty shortly, and Captain Treville said to tell you, Monsieur, that you do not.”

Athos met her stubborn stare, held it for a moment, and then turned his attention to the bowl in front of him. He didn’t look up again until Constance had left, although he could hear her singing from elsewhere in the house.

“I will leave with you,” he said.

d’Artagnan chuckled. “You must be mad,” he said. “Porthos was angrier than I’ve ever seen him; he told me to remind you of that time in Madame Lauren’s inn in case you thought of coming in today. He wouldn’t tell me anything further.”

Athos watched him pick up his spoon and stir the thick concoction in front of him. “I won’t tell you either. Have you broken your fast often here?”

d’Artagnan picked up a spoonful and let the stodgy mix drop back into the bowl. “I think I can probably guess it involved you being stubborn and Porthos being more stubborn still. And I have, on occasion.... I think perhaps this is gruel?”

“I think perhaps you should leave it to your imagination.”

d’Artagnan seemed horrified at the suggestion. “I couldn’t offend Constance like that.”

Athos pushed his own bowl away and ignored the look he got from the younger man. “Madame Bonacieux is well aware of her limitations. She tries to overcome them, but - as with all of us – sometimes she doesn’t succeed.”

Now, d’Artagnan was looking at him with a mix of curiosity, and perhaps...jealousy? 

“I have had cause to stay here, on occasion,” Athos explained. “For various reasons, none of them what you are clearly thinking.”

d’Artagnan spooned up some of the gruel and stared at it. “I’m sure it will taste fine.”

Athos watched him put the spoonful in his mouth. He started to swallow, hesitated, and then a look of panic crossed his face. When he saw Athos watching him, d’Artagnan forced the food down, and stubbornly pulled the bowl closer.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

Athos sighed, stood up, and went back to bed.

::::

Despite the warnings he’d received, Athos bathed later which helped, and got changed and walked the distance to the garrison, which didn’t.

By the time he arrived, he was soaked with sweat, and his head ached worse than any morning after a long night of drinking. Of course the others would be angry at him, but it was not in his nature to lie bored and restless. He would be far better with something to keep him occupied.

When he walked across the yard, he saw their youngest member leaning heavily on the rough hewn table, bent over and vomiting roughly.

Athos stood with him, and rested a hand on his back. “I would hate to say that I told you so.”

Finally done, d’Artagnan straightened. He wiped his mouth on the back of his hand. “And yet you have,” he said, without bite. “Perhaps she is trying to kill me.”

For the first time since Porthos has picked him up and carried him to Constance’s home, Athos felt like smiling. He didn’t, sure that d’Artagnan would be offended.

“Not intentionally,” he said. He poured a glass of water and offered it to his friend. “But perhaps the next time Madame Bonacieux offers to cook for you, consider your sense of self preservation before your sense of chivalry.”


End file.
